


I think I smell a rat

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [7]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Arthur POV, Brotherly Love, M/M, Protective Shelby siblings, Season/Series01 AU, Some Humor, Stream of Consciousness, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, and feelings, some of that, wtma AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: A few of Arthur’s thoughts concerning his brother’s relationship with a certain London gangster. And some conversations he has with his other siblings regarding it.Or: Arthur tries very hard at everything, Alfie is not making things easy, and Tommy thinks about moving into the stables permanently. Ada tells it like it is, and John is genuinely happy for his brother.





	I think I smell a rat

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following request from tumblr: Oooo can you get Tommy and Alfie’s relationship be seen from a different perspective. For humour, I suggest Arthur’s point of view x)
> 
> Arthur… the poor, sweet soul. One day, he’ll have peace. But not in this fic. This is a bit of everything: Some humor, but of course I had to throw all these feelings in there as well. It’s set during of some of the earlier months and there are references to my other works throughout (mostly Kiss with a fist and Family is family I think), but it can most probably be read on its own as well

Arthur fucking hates Alfie Solomons. For a myriad of very sound reasons. Firstly: He’s unhinged, and in a completely different way than Arthur. Arthur isn’t oblivious of his own limited mental stability, but Solomons is just some next-level- type crazy. The way he talks, this constant stream of unfiltered bullshit that just seems to pour straight from his brain to his mouth, without ever being thought through twice. Half formed sentences and long fucking stories that seem to have no link to reality. And how his eyes get this manic glint to them when he gets riled up. The way he gestures. Those are just the things Arthur can think of at the top of his head. 

And secondly: he’s fucking dangerous. This too, on a completely different level than anyone else Arthur knows of. He’s heard things about Alfie Solomons, and the things he gets up to in London. What happens to people who get involved with him. Solomons harbours a mean streak, to say the least, if half of those rumours are true. Prone to violent outbursts, and making little difference between ally or enemy –everyone seems to be equally fair game.

Arthur was hesitant to say the least, when Tommy wanted to strike a deal with the London gang. But of course, when Tommy has his mind set on something, nothing Arthur says could ever change it. An hour, a few glasses of whiskey, and some of Tommy’s prettily spun tales, and Arthur grunted his approval. He agreed. Still hesitant, because Solomons is way out of their fucking league. But, he agreed. 

And wouldn’t that turn out to be just a fucking awful decision?

 ...

The sharp knocking awakes him, because he’s always been a light sleeper. Quite groggily, he gets out of bed to open before the person outside knocks the fucking door down. 

And outside the front door, he finds this giant brute of a man with Tommy more or less hanging off his arm, clearly drunk out of his fucking mind. 

This is the first time Arthur ever lays eyes on Alfie Solomons. First impressions do have a tendency to last. 

Tommy is absolutely blackout, ready to pass out on his feet- drunk. When Arthur gets righteously mad about it, Solomons has the fucking nerve to say he should be grateful. Fucking grateful, for bringing Tommy home at all. The implications of this statement make Arthur’s gut churn, but Solomons pushes Tommy inside and he has to focus on keeping his little brother standing.

Solomons has this smug look on his face, and hadn’t Arthur’s hands been occupied trying to hold Tommy upright, one of them would’ve ended up breaking the man’s nose. 

When he leads, or, more accurately, lugs Tommy upstairs, he tries to ask about it. Has Solomons… done anything? It’s too vague, he knows, but he can’t bear to phrase it another way. _Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?_

But Tommy just gives a completely uncharacteristic, almost dreamy smile and mutters something barely coherent about how nice Solomons arms are. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He should’ve called the whole thing off then. But he didn’t. Tried to tell himself it’s just the alcohol talking. Tommy wouldn’t be that reckless. Not even him could be that _fucking stupid._

Arthur should’ve learned by now never to underestimate his younger brother.

 ...

He’s lying awake –one of those nights, simply- and that’s why he hears the front door open. Just Tommy, coming home from... where has he been? Arthur suddenly realises that he hasn’t seen his little brother since last night. And he doesn’t seem to be alone, because now when he really listens, he hears two sets of footsteps. On account of the shitty overall quality of every single part of this house, you could hear a needle drop in the other room. 

He expects Tommy to come upstairs, but he doesn’t. And when he’s tossed and turned for what feels like an eternity, but can only really be about half an hour, he decides to go downstairs. Maybe he imagined it, those other footsteps, maybe Tommy came home alone. But if so, he’s been sitting in somewhere downstairs the middle of the night, all by himself, for far too long. Isn’t it Arthur’s duty then, to see what’s happening? 

He ventures downstairs and to the kitchen. 

Hushed voices are speaking on the other side of the closed door, and Arthur listens. He’s not fucking eavesdropping, he’s just… checking in on his reckless younger brother. 

He hears the word London. Someone asks when Tommy can make the trip, to which he responds something about next weekend. Then, the unknown, but not entirely unfamiliar voice talks about a bed… Arthur can suddenly place both the voice, and piece together what the conversation is about. Right, so someone’s definitely about to answer for this. 

When he jerks the door open, he finds Tommy sitting on top of the kitchen table with none other than Alfie Solomons between his legs. One of Solomons' hands is on his thigh, the other holding a firm grip of his shirt collar as they share a rather heated kiss. 

Why do bad things happen to good people? 

It all just goes a bit blurry after that: Arthur is so fucking angry. Because Tommy will get himself killed. Will get them all killed. Or will get his heart broken into tiny little shards that Arthur can’t put back together. 

Then Arthur makes a few consecutive bad decisions, which in the end leads to Tommy taking the first given opportunity to escape the kitchen with an upset and newly awakened Finn, Solomons outright threatening to murder him, and Polly and Ada ripping him a new one. 

Life is a struggle.  

...

Right, but, so- does Solomons have to constantly be touching Tommy? Is it fucking necessary to feel him up in the kitchen when Arthur just wants to go about his day? Tommy doesn’t seem to mind though- sometimes he will roll his eyes or give some witty remark, but it’s all just… banter. Light-hearted. Fond.

Ada calls him ‘a fucking prude’ when he dares complaining about it. Arthur is offended.

 ...

Aunt Pol asks what has gotten into him when he tries to bring this whole ‘Tommy is sleeping with an insane man who will be the death of us all’- issue to her. 

“Since when do you care who your brother is fucking?” she asks without even looking up from the paper she’s reading. “Just you worry about the business and leave this thing to me. I’ve got it under control.” 

What does that even mean? 

...

Arthur is not quite sure why he cares, alright, but he is not above giving Pol's question some thought. 

So, granted, he hasn’t been the most stable man since the war. But he’s is working on his shit, alright. With dubious results admittedly, but he is fucking _working_ on it. And part of this ‘working on it’ means manning up and taking some responsibility for his family.

Whether Tommy likes it or not, that includes him.

Especially when he's in bed with a fucking off his rockers, violent, lewd and annoying man that Arthur can’t fathom why he likes. Tommy is everything but that, what with his carefully selected words, pristine appearance and generally disciplined manner. Only thing they share is the violence then, as far as Arthur can see. And that’s also a fucking problem, because were things to get violent between them, it’s pretty clear who’d have the upper hand. Sure, Tommy is a surprisingly able fighter despite his size, because he’s quick, precise and vicious, but what’s that to a man like Solomons? And Arthur is certain that Tommy sooner or later will manage to piss the man off, because that’s just how he is; utterly infuriating. 

And with Solomons temper, that is bound to lead to bad things. 

Arthur thinks about that sometimes, when he sees them together. Especially when Tommy isn’t wearing his coat, which adds a bit of imaginary bulk to his shoulders. And him and Solomons are standing in the kitchen, bickering as usual, and the larger man puts a hand on the back of his neck, or runs a finger down his jaw. Just a fond gesture. But Arthur can’t help imagining what sort of damage those hands could do if Solomons put his mind to it. If he snaps.

 _When_ he snaps.  

It’s different than taking a beating by some drunkard in a pub, or in a fight with a rivalling gang. That’s just a bit of pain. Some bruises, a cracked rib or two, but once you heal up, you forget about it and move on. Completely different thing, being hit by someone you’ve put your trust in. Tommy’s had enough of that in his life. They all have really, their father wasn’t too picky, but Arthur can’t deny it: the man had it out for Tommy.

The world is full of shitty men. 

So why, out of all them, did Tommy have to pick this one? Is it secretly just to mess with Arthur? Arthur can’t wrap his head around it.   

“Maybe he’s just really good in bed?” John suggests after one or two whiskeys too many, when they’re discussing the matter in the kitchen one night. Tommy is with Solomons in London, so no worries there. 

Arthur grimaces. 

“Ada’s right, you’re a fucking prude,” John chuckles. “Haven’t you noticed that Tommy’s a bit less uptight these days? Think some of that tension has been fucked right out of him.” 

“Fuck off.” Arthur digs the heel of his hands into his eyes. “That’s our brother you’re talking about.” 

“What? You don’t seem to have a problem with me and Esme going at it? And we’re not as fucking considerate, what with the noise and stuff.” 

“Don’t want to talk about that either.” Arthur stares down into his whiskey, suddenly finding the liquid very interesting and worthy of his attention. 

“Know what, Solomons is alright,” John states cheerily. “Bet you’d see that if you just spent some time not glaring at him.” 

“Fucking traitor,” Arthur grumbles. “Since when are you so chummy with him? You tried to punch him in the face, first time you saw him.” 

“I can own up to my fucking mistakes, alright,” John cuffs him over the head. “He’s decent. Bloody funny too when you actually listen.”   

“How would you know?”

“He’s here a lot, right, and we actually fucking talk. You know, at breakfast. Or when we just run into each other.” John swallows down a large amount of his whiskey, before adding not without pride. “I’m making an effort.” 

Arthur begrudgingly realises that John has a much more ‘mature’ attitude to this whole thing. Mature, if you use Polly’s words. Oblivious, if you use Arthur’s. Fuck, is he the only one who sees that this will end up hurting Tommy? 

John suddenly bursts out laughing. He’s drunk, alright. 

“What?” Arthur glowers, rather sure he doesn’t actually want to know what has his brother in stitches. 

“To think-“ John gasps between fits of laughter. “All Tommy needed to get rid of that stick up his arse, was to have some good quality cock there instead-“ 

“Fucking hell John, you are the absolute _fucking_ worst!” Arthur takes refuge under his arms, forehead pressed against the table, but John wraps an arm around his neck and rubs a knuckle against the top of his head in a violent but fond gesture. They end up in some sort of wrestling match for a bit until Arthur breaks free. 

“I’m actually worried,” he states and puts both hands up in a signal for peace. “You get that, right? It’s not about the fucking. Thought that was all it was, at first, this whole thing. Maybe it is, what the hell do I know.” He fishes out the cigarette pack from his inner pocket and offers John a smoke, before lighting one himself. “But Tommy seems to like him... you know, really, actually fucking like him.” 

“Don’t see how that’s a problem,” John shrugs and wipes a laugh induced tear from his eye as he takes a drag on the cigarette. 

“You don’t? Because it’s pretty fucking obvious to me,” Arthur begins, before stating what he considers being facts, “Tommy goes to fix us a deal, right, and when Solomons figures he can get some, as part of that, he goes along with it. But when he gets tired of him, he’ll screw us over. And we’ll not only lose the business, but Tommy’s head will probably just break permanently.” 

Head. Heart. Same thing. 

“If we’re gonna be like that, how do you know it’s not the other way around?” John retorts. “Maybe Tommy’s playing Solomons. Could very well be, if I know him right-“ 

A new voice suddenly enters the conversation. 

“Oh, why didn’t anyone tell me we’re having a little spontaneous family meeting?” Ada is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing her coat. “Or is it an idiots-exclusive kind of deal? Is that why you’re the only ones here?” 

“Where have you been?” Arthur ignores the remark.  
  
“Me and Jessie went to this very interesting talk on viewing Marx from a female perspective-“ She cuts herself off when she sees their blank faces. “Forget it. We went to a thing. But now I’m home. Seems like that’s lucky, because someone’s clearly going to have to bring some order to this meeting.” She hangs her coat on the back of a chair and sits down, arms crossed over her chest. “I really don’t think we should sit here and speculate about Tommy’s relationship-“ 

Arthur huffs loudly at that word and Ada glares. 

“About Tommy’s _relationship_ with Alfie. Especially when you have that fucking attitude about it.” 

“Hey, he’s the one’s who’s being all suspicious,” John exclaims and points to Arthur. “I just said I’m happy he’s getting some!” 

“That’s great, gang up on me,” Arthur throws his hands up in a defeated gesture. “This is what I get for trying…” 

“Well you need to get your head out of your arse, Arthur,” Ada states as if it’s a simple fact. “What if this is it, and they end up together? Are you going to spend the rest of your life glaring daggers at Alfie? There’ll be a lot of really shitty Christmases then.” 

“As if that is ever going to happen,” John chuckles. “Can you imagine, Tommy fucking Shelby and Alfie Solomons, settling down in some fucking house, being all domestic-“

Ada reaches over the table and smacks his shoulder, resulting in John flinching and staring accusingly at her. 

“Don’t treat this as some fucking joke!” Ada’s eyes get a streak of steel to them. “Isn’t that something you think you and Esme will want, eventually? That’s the goal of this whole fucking thing, isn’t it? That we won’t have to live this way forever.” She looks between them. “That someday, you can live somewhere a little less shitty, and a little safer. With someone you love.” 

Ada is the only one in this family who can say things like that, Arthur thinks. With the exception of aunt Pol, maybe. But she’s right isn’t she? John scratches the back of his head. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean anything by it,” he mutters, never too proud to realise when he’s made a mistake. A good man, he’s become. The alcohol makes Arthur all dewy-eyed. 

“Well don’t say shit like that in front of Tommy,” Ada says sharply. “It’s hard enough as it is. Being with someone who… you can’t walk arm in arm with down the street. Who you can’t kiss without looking both ways first. And have people think your love is just worth a little _less_.” The words are filled with an unusual venom. “And it’s just fucking unfair- you won’t ever have the same life, and opportunities as everyone else.” She pauses to take a harsh breath through her nose, cheeks burning. “He’s got to at least feel that his own family supports him.” 

“Think Tommy cares… about all that stuff?” John asks, treading carefully despite the alcohol fogging his mind.

“I don’t know everything that goes on in his head,” Ada snaps. “But wouldn’t you?” 

John shrugs. “I mean, yeah, I guess- I just never… thought Tommy wanted that kind of thing. Just seemed to be about sex, you know.”

“What? You think he’s never loved someone?” Ada is clutching at her arms now, knuckles whitening. “Think there’s never been a man he wished he could spend his life with? And maybe before Alfie, no one ever thought it was worth the risk-“ she cuts herself off, as if realising she’s said too much, caught up in the heat of the moment.   

“Ada…” Arthur begins softly, but she shakes her head. 

“I won’t get into it. None of your business. But… think about it now and again. You don’t know everything. Because Tommy never talks- but,” she is speaking in half formed sentences. “Just, let him have this. Knowing him, he doesn’t need any help from us to fuck it up. Usually does that fine on his own.” 

Well she’s making a bit of sense, isn’t she, Arthur reasons. And she’s upset, and he hates seeing her like that. 

“Fine. You’ve got a point, I’ll give you that.” He looks straight at his little sister, her blazing eyes and flushed cheeks. There’s a lot going on behind those eyes, he can tell. “We’ve got each other’s backs in this family. Always, yeah?” 

Ada nods, jaw still clenched tightly. 

“But we look out for each other, don’t we? And we’ve got to be realistic… About Solomons.” Arthur puts his hands up in a silencing gesture when Ada opens her mouth. “I won’t fucking… pester Tommy about it. I’ll try to behave. But, if he ever hurts him- and not just the normal fights and shit- but actually hurts him, I’m going to fucking kill him with my bare hands, I’ll tell you that.” 

“And I’ll drink to that that,” John’s words are a bit slurred as he raises the glass to down the last bit of whiskey. 

“Oh, believe me, if he does, I won’t just help you carry the shovel. I’ll dig the hole myself.” Ada looks like she means it. Arthur wonders if this violent streak has gotten worse since she started hanging around Jessie Eden. “But honestly, I don’t think we have to worry.” She gets up. “Alfie is a good man. Or, not good. But bad in the same way Tommy is. I recon they deserve each other. So, we should just stay out of it.”

“Look at us, plotting and shit,” John grins. “Tommy would be proud. Well, until he realised we talked about him. Then he’d have a fucking fit.” 

 “That’s why he won’t find out,” Ada states simply. “Agreed?” 

“Agreed,” Arthur and John answer in unison. 

...

So, the weeks pass, and Arthur doesn’t exactly… hate Alfie Solomons anymore. Mostly because he’s just decided that he doesn’t, for Tommy’s sake. The man still irks him, with his loud and brash behaviour. And the touching, just, constantly… But he isn’t overwhelmed by an urge to shoot him quite as often. Though it definitely comes and goes… And Solomons doesn’t make it easy for him. 

So they have their ups and downs. 

A lot of downs. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen table one the morning, trying to just live his fucking life and have some tea when Solomons enters, barely dressed with his shirt untucked and buttoned only halfway. 

“Good morning, Arthur!” He slaps his back, hard enough to almost make Arthur cough up the tea. “Such a glorious day to be alive, wouldn’t you say? Even in this shitty little town of yours-“ 

Arthur doesn’t like this cheery mood. Then again, he likes none of Solomons’ moods. But only one thing puts a man in a mood like that, and he doesn’t want to fucking think about it, alright? 

He just grunts surly in response, and it grants him one of those _looks_ that tell him he’s about to hear something he rather wouldn’t  

“You know, I never really liked horses, yeah?” Alfie muses and pours himself a cup of tea. “Jittery animals. Just running around all the fucking time- get spooked by nothing, what have you. Once saw a horse get scared by its own fucking shadow… what sort of fucking behaviour is that?”  

_Please stop talking._

“But I’ve got to say, they may have a purpose after all-“ 

If Arthur just ignores him, maybe he’ll go away. 

“All that riding Tommy’s been up to is proving to be quite useful,” Alfie smirks at him. “Because fucking hell, that boy knows how to take a co-“ 

“Right that’s it!” Arthur slams both hands down onto the table and stands up with enough force to send the chair crashing to the floor. He is just about to drive a fist into Solomons’ grinning face, because right then, he just fucking forgets all about his new plan to be all supportive and- 

“Arthur!” 

Both Solomons and Arthur look towards the door, where Tommy has silently appeared and is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, jaws clenched tight and eyes cold. Arthur lowers his hand. 

“Just thought I’d let you know that I’m going to the stables,” Tommy says icily. “And the horses-“ his eyes bore themselves into Alfie at that last part. 

“You’re very light on your feet, darling,” he says, still with that grin on his face. The man has no fucking shame. “Bound to hear some things you wish you hadn’t, yeah? When you sneak up on people like that.” 

Tommy gives Alfie a positively murderous look. 

“As I said: I’ll be at the stables,” he glowers. “And come to think of it, maybe I’ll just fucking live there from now on. Would probably be for the best. Because honestly, I’m getting pretty fucking tired of this shit. Not being able to leave you two alone for five goddamn minutes.” 

“Tommy, I-“ Arthur isn’t sure where he is going with this. _I’m sorry for trying to punch your oaf of a man, but he fucking started it!_ He’s not a child, now is he? But Tommy doesn’t give him the opportunity to think for too long. 

“How about this,” he fixates those cold eyes on Arthur. “You two go outside and dig a fucking hole. Then, use the shovels to beat each other to death. That’ll save the rest of us a lot of trouble.” With that, Tommy turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door slams shut hard enough to make the cups on the table rattle. 

“Bloody hell,” Solomons groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, finally showing something akin to remorse. “I’ll be on the couch for a fucking week.” 

“Well why do you say shit like that?” Arthur hisses and gives him a shove. 

“Because it fucking bothers you, that’s why.” Solomons returns the shove with a bit more force, and hadn’t Arthur for once wanted to hear the man speak, the whole thing would’ve turned into a quite violent fight. “Do you think it’s all we do?”  

“What?” 

“Fuck.” Solomons leans against the countertop, arms folded over his chest. “Think that’s all we get up to, me and Tommy? Because it sure fucking feels like you do. Not that I get why you’re so fucking uptight about that either. But that’s a whole other thing, innit?” 

“It’s you who’re constantly throwing these fucking innuendoes around!” Arthur accuses. 

“Yes, because it _bothers you_ ,” Solomons repeats. “Riles you up. And you fucking annoy me, what with your glaring and constant muttering- banging on our bedroom door at all hours. It gets on my fucking nerves, alright? Abnormal fucking behaviour.” 

Arthur doesn’t know how to respond to this, but Solomons just goes on, as usual.  

“We’re going to talk about this, yeah? Some other time. Get drunk, and talk. This thing-“ he makes a gesture between them. “It’s problem, innit? Because Tommy gets stuck in the middle. So we’ll talk. But not now. Got some apologizing to do, I recon. To my boy. Shouldn’t let him sulk for too long, that’s the thing. Not a good place to be stuck in, that head of his.” 

Arthur considers this. Tommy does get caught in the middle. And didn’t he promise both Ada and himself that he’d keep it together? This definitely isn’t that. Out of the two of them, him and Solomons, Arthur is definitely the saner one. So maybe he’ll just have to fucking step up. The right thing isn’t always the easy one. 

Solomons walks past Arthur, who snags his arm. 

“I’ll say this once,” he braces himself. “I’m shit at this. This, big-brother thing. And Tommy isn’t exactly fucking easy to look out for. But I’m trying. This is me… trying.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all emotional about it,” Solomons mutters. “You’re trying, I get it. You just keep doing that. Suppose you’ll figure it out eventually.”   

“We’ll talk. Some other time.” Arthur states and backs off. “But I’ll need a few drinks. Like you said.” 

“Figured as much,” Solomons squares his jaw. “We’ll talk,” he then echoes Arthur, who nods and sits back down to finish his cold tea.

Solomons leaves the kitchen.

 

Late that night, Arthur comes home from the Garrison to a dark and quiet house. On his way upstairs he passes the kitchen, and stops in his tracks on the warm square of light that is cast on the hallway floor from the ajar door. Seems like not everyone is asleep after all. 

Tommy and Solomons –Alfie, Arthur practices thinking of him that way- are sitting on the kitchen sofa, engaged in a quiet conversation. Alfie’s arm is around Tommy, who is nestled against his side, head resting against his shoulder as the man strokes his hair. It’s a sight not meant for anyone else, and Arthur definitely feels that he’s intruding. Almost bizarre, seeing the always so intimidating man look so… soft? But what is even more bizarre is seeing Tommy that way. Tommy, who’s been all cold gazes and steely silence since the war. Who never lets anyone in anymore.   

Alfie is talking as usual, but it’s too quiet for Arthur to pick up on. Hushed whisperers, only meant for Tommy’s ears. Tommy smiles, and laughs softly. A laugh that makes his eyes go bright.   

Arthur didn’t think Tommy could still smile like that. And he realises that over the past months, he’s actually seen him do it several times. But he’s been too caught up in his own thing with Solomons to fully notice. Notice that for the first time since the war, Tommy seems… happy? The closest thing to it Arthur has seen since, at least. Maybe it’s the alcohol that does it, but he feels himself being filled up with this warmth, that spreads from somewhere in his chest. 

He needs to give Solomons an honest chance. Because any man who can make Tommy smile like that –like the war never happened, like they’re kids again and Tommy just wants to train horses for a living, and has a smile that lights up a fucking room- Any man who does that deserves at least a chance.  

So he leaves the couple in the kitchen, even takes extra care not to make a sound as he walks upstairs. The right thing isn’t always the easy one. And he’ll probably regret this decision a thousand times over. But he’s willing to give it a try

**Author's Note:**

> yes, in the future, I might write that conversation between Alfie and Arthur! Could be a thing!


End file.
